


I request Johnlock

by Strange_johnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, BAMF John Watson, Canon Divergence - A Study in Pink, Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, First Kiss, First Meeting, Jealous John, Jealousy, M/M, Protective John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-15 03:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10549200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_johnlock/pseuds/Strange_johnlock
Summary: You request - I write1. A different first meeting2. Protective John3. Jealous John





	1. Meeting John Watson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lealee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lealee/gifts), [TheColdEastWind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheColdEastWind/gifts), [Kaapp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaapp/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He texted the killer. He waited at Angelo's. He chased the wrong cab. He felt the sudden urge to giggle, when he stumbled back into 221B Baker Street, but didn't. People don't laugh when they are on their own, not that he cares what people think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Lealee  
> Beta by the wonderful AuntieMabel. Thank you so much.

Sherlock Holmes got up off the floor, excitement pumping through his veins. This really was Christmas.

Jennifer Wilson would probably disagree, but she was dead, so who cared.

Pink. Sometimes the simplest things, the ones that even Anderson could get, were the most important. If he had an assistant, he could tell them, how stupid the people around him were or how brilliant this dead woman was.

Maybe she could have been his assistant. On the other hand, she would have spent way too much time with her multiple lovers and he needed someone who was there all the time. Someone who got along with people, so Sherlock wouldn't need to deal with them, but also got along with Sherlock well enough to tolerate his rudeness, the days without sleep, the thinking out loud. He would have to ask Mycroft to look for a person like that, because Sherlock was convinced he or she couldn't possibly live in London. Or exist at all.

It took him an hour to find the suitcase, bright pink and well organized.

He texted the killer. He waited at Angelo's. He chased the wrong cab. He felt the sudden urge to giggle, when he stumbled back into 221B Baker Street, but didn't. People don't laugh when they are on their own, not that he cares what people think.

Another drugs bust. Anderson probably got off on doing those and Sherlock would never give in to the urge of his addiction now, if only to piss Anderson off.

Annoyed by all the people in his flat, Sherlock began pacing around the flat, rambling meaningless stuff to scare Lestrade's people off. It worked and when they left, Sherlock was finally able to concentrate on the case again.

Case. The suitcase. He jumped to his feet.

Rachel.

 

* * *

 

At the same time, elsewhere in London, John Watson got into a cab. When the gun was pressed into John's back and he was forced to enter the warehouse, the army doctor almost felt relieved. Finally something was happening to him. He craved danger and this promised to be dangerous. An adventure, maybe his last.

The cabbie, probably the worst cabbie in the world, made him sit down on the floor, putting two bottles in front of John, the capsules inside identical, sliding one closer to John. The gun was pointed at his head by now.

“You can choose wha'ever pill you want. I'll take wha'ever pill you don't. One of us dies and one of us lives.”

John took a deep breath, the tremble in his hand suddenly gone. This was a game, the prize to win was his own life. A life that didn't really hold a value anymore, not after he had been shot.

“The gun. I choose the gun.”

He didn't know whether he would have chosen it, if he hadn't recognized that it was fake. Maybe. Better shot than poisoned. He was still a soldier, he wanted to die like one. The weapon clicked and John was still alive.

The blow from his fist made the cabbie fall to the floor, unconscious. It took him a while to get his phone out of his jacket. He called the police.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” The voice was deep, the man it belonged to pale and tall. John stared at him, his eyes scanning his surroundings for a weapon.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” the man repeated his question, “You are a soldier, which is obvious from the way you hold yourself and the lack of fear as you faced a serial killer.”

John was impressed. Handsome and intelligent, with a hint of danger. He liked the combination.

“And who are you exactly?” he asked.

“My name is Sherlock Holmes. I am a consulting detective. It is my job to stop criminals like your friend over there.”

John smiled. “Seems like I did your job for you.”

And then, blame it on the adrenaline or the insanity of the situation, John got onto the tips of his toes and pressed his lips to the mouth of one Sherlock Holmes in a rough kiss. He moved back after a few seconds, wanted to say sorry, but he wasn't and so he said nothing at all. The other man's eyes were wide with surprise and something else John couldn't name.

Moments later the police arrived and John Watson was brought back to the police station for questioning, desperately wishing this was not the last time he would meet the consulting detective.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock lay awake on the sofa, fighting the exhaustion that the end of a case brought with it. His phone vibrated in his pocket.

_Case. Triple murder. I really need your help. Could you come to the Yard asap? GL_

Sherlock smiled. He had hoped for a reason to text John, because John Watson was interesting and Sherlock still wanted an assistant, maybe a friend. He had talked Gavin into giving him John's number.

_Case. Come at once. If convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway. SH_

John came.

In fact, John would always be there from this point on. And he got along with people, so Sherlock wouldn't need to deal with them, but he also got along with Sherlock well enough to tolerate his rudeness, the days without sleep, the thinking out loud.

And god, the kisses. Sherlock loved those. But most of all he loved the giggling in bed, as John lay next to him, after they'd made love. And who cared that people usually didn't giggle after sex.


	2. Protective John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She just called the most brilliant man in the world a freak and I don't think I can leave before she apologizes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by TheColdEastWind  
> Hope you like it :D

John had always been very protective of the people he loved. He could be charming, funny and sometimes way too angry for his own good, but taking care of his loved ones and keeping them safe had been his top priority through all his life.

He had punched the kids who wanted to make fun of Harry, had protected his mother, when his father had been drunk. In school he had stopped fights and protected the shy children from bullying as well as he could.

He became a doctor to be able to protect people from diseases and he had thought about becoming a soldier. He didn't. There was Sherlock to think about.

They had met in their uni days, which was now almost ten years ago. John had fallen in love with his madman and he had gladly given up his dream of the war to be at his side, not one second of regret. He wouldn't give up being a doctor for him.

Sherlock Holmes was a rude genius, who didn't care about people's feelings (John's being the only exceptions, on his good days). He played the violin at midnight and slept on the couch. His experiments had forced them to move more than once, when their landlord had noticed the stains on the floor or the burned wallpaper.

John Watson was madly in love with him and somehow that love grew with every single one of Sherlock's sulks and every adventure the consulting detective dragged him into.

They had moved into Baker Street a week ago. It was closer to the surgery John worked at and Mrs. Hudson, their landlady, had promised not to kick them out, if Sherlock managed to set something on fire. Well, not the first three times. Sherlock was working a case with Scotland Yard again and John had decided to make pasta for dinner, so his boyfriend could eat whenever he came home. He started eating at around nine, when he felt like he was starving and there was still no sign of Sherlock. His phone vibrated with his text alert.

_Forgot my magnifying lens. Bring it to the crime scene. SH_

The next message included an address.

John looked around the room and found it on the table in the living room, underneath a stack of paper.

_Magic word?_

_Please... SH_

_Good boy. I'll be there in 20 minutes. Try not to offend too many people out of boredom._

_I cannot promise that. Anderson is more incompetent than usual. SH_

_Oh how excited I am to meet all your friends from the Yard. They sound like they are all lovely people._

_Not at all. Gavin is acceptable. SH_

John smiled. He took the magnifying lens, picked up his coat and keys and left 221B. He hailed a cab and arrived at the crime scene five minutes later than he had expected.

 

* * *

 

Greg Lestrade had known Sherlock Holmes for almost five years by the time they found the lady in pink.

Well, knowing him would be too strong. He worked with him more regularly than he wanted to admit. The consulting detective was a genius and he had solved all the cases Greg had included him in and after such a long time, the DI had somehow started to consider the genius a friend.

He learned that he knew nothing about Sherlock Holmes when a short man in a beige jumper and jeans came in. Well, he followed an annoyed Sally Donovan.

“He says he has something for the Freak.”

Greg didn't really appreciate Sally calling Sherlock that, but the blond man looked utterly shocked at the insult.

“Greg Lestrade, DI. How can I help you?”

The short man hid his anger behind a smile that said more than a thousand words.

“Dr. John Watson. Sherlock asked me to bring him his magnifying lens and I would have given it to this lovely lady and left, but then she just called the most brilliant man in the world a freak and I don't think I can leave before she apologizes.”

Great, that would be fun. Greg had told Sally before not to insult the consulting detective, but maybe it needed an angry John Watson to stop her.

“Apologize? Do you now that guy at all? He's rude all the time.”

John Watson took a deep breath. “Sally it is, right? Have you ever tried to get to know him? Because I did and this man is not only brilliant, but also very sensitive to every single one of your stupid comments. And him telling you the truth about yourself that you don't want to hear doesn't make him a freak, it makes you a bad person. So you will go to him and apologize, because he is doing your work right now, for free.”

Greg could see Sally getting pale and he felt impressed with that small man.

“And I don't have to remind you that he is saving lives by doing it.”

“John.”

The three of them turned around to face the consulting detective, who came down the stairs to join them. Sherlock took his gloves off and took the magnifying lens from John.

Then he surprised Greg and Sally by pressing a kiss to John's cheek.

“Here you go, love,”

The smile on the doctor's face went soft.

“Thank you, John. Don't wait up with the pasta. This will take a while.”

With that, Holmes left the room again, his coat flying behind him. John turned to look at Sally Donovan again. “Say sorry. Make it believable.”

Then he turned to look at Greg.

“See you, DI. Cheers.”

Sally only dared to move once John Watson had left the crime scene.

“Did... did we just meet Sherlock Holmes' boyfriend?” Greg kept himself from grinning.

“Let's concentrate on the murder victim upstairs right now, Sally. And then you can spend your spare time with thinking about who is shagging Sherlock Holmes.”

* * *

 

Sherlock couldn't keep himself from smiling. He had thought about bringing John to a crime scene before, just to see the surprise on Donovan's and Anderson's faces. He wanted to show off his handsome boyfriend.

And things had gone better than he had imagined.

An angry John Watson was the most attractive John Watson. Maybe he would leave his magnifying lens at home more often from now on.


	3. Jealous John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You seem a little tense, Dr. Watson,” Irene cooed, the finger nail of her right index finger clinking against her wine glass repeatedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Kaapp  
> Hope you like it :D

Irene Adler was back in London. Sherlock had mentioned it one evening, while they were sitting on the sofa in the living room, crap telly a background noise. John hadn't reacted, but it worried him. Seeing Sherlock with Janine had hurt. Imagining him with Irene felt unbearable, even after so many years.

God, and the idiot he was, he had advised Sherlock to text her back. Not that he had a claim on Sherlock, they were only friends. Friends that were raising a child together. Somehow, when he had moved back to Baker Street, he had hoped that they could become something more. But how did one bring up a topic like this? John was not good with words, especially when it came to feelings. It had been hard enough to apologize for hitting Sherlock. Hard, but more than necessary. And he was oh so glad that they were able to trust each other again, so why risk that for a confession of love, or a kiss?

John got back from work around four. Rosie had been invited to her friend's birthday party and Kieran's mom would bring her home at around six. So John had decided he could use the two hours for some housework, maybe read a little and then make pasta for dinner. Mrs. Hudson opened the door for him and he brought the two bags of groceries he had bought for her into her kitchen. They chatted a little, before John made his way up to the flat.

Irene Adler sat in his chair, a glass of red wine in her perfectly manicured hands. Her dress covered her like a second skin and she had her hair styled in a way that made her look very strict and oh so tempting.

Dominatrix.

John hadn't even been shocked by the fact that she was still alive. Apparently attractive and brilliant brunettes were unable to die and stay dead. It broke his heart to see her here. With Sherlock. The both of them laughing. John suddenly felt like an intruder in his own flat, like he didn't belong here.

“Oh, there's our handsome doctor.” Irene smiled at him and Sherlock took her glass as she got out of the chair in a movement so elegant, it looked like the beginning of a dance. John accepted a kiss to his cheek.

He didn't feel handsome at all, not when the woman was in the room. He didn't have the time to care for his looks right now. He looked tired all the time now, with a toddler to take care of. The wrinkles around his eyes seemed to get deeper every day. God, he was an old man and Irene was the most beautiful woman in the world, right after Rosie of course.

“Irene,” he said simply, turning away as soon as he could without being to rude. He went into the kitchen and put the groceries into the fridge with more force than necessary. The giggling in the living room resumed.

Jealousy took over his heart and spread into every part of his body. He was tempted to give in to it and walk over to Sherlock right now, crawl into his lap and snog him in front of Irene. She would probably stay and watch. John shook his head to get rid of the image. Footsteps.

Sherlock crossed the kitchen and John heard the door to the loo close. John got the dish washer running and then took a moment to brace himself, before he left the kitchen.

“You seem a little tense, Dr. Watson,” Irene cooed, the finger nail of her right index finger clinking against her wine glass repeatedly. John cleared his throat. He had hoped he could just go to his room and not having to talk to her. He wanted to strangle her, or at least tell her to keep away from the man he was secretly in love with.

“Let's just say, I don't react well to people coming back from the dead. And if you could excuse me now, I have... things to do.” Irene just smiled at him and John turned around and left.

He let himself fall to the bed face first which made him feel a little bit like a teenager. He should probably leave, before Sherlock and Irene decided to move things to the bedroom. His heart throbbed at the thought and the jealousy filled the room like thick fog, making breathing harder and harder.

He loved Sherlock. They were a family. He had been stupid enough to confuse that with a relationship. And now Irene was back and whatever small chance John had had, now it was gone. A door opened and closed and then John heard the sound of high heels on the stairs. A flicker of hope. Small, but too strong for John to ignore. He turned around to look up to the ceiling above him and he stayed like that for a while.

 

 

* * *

 

Sherlock heard John's steps on the stairs. He put his hands underneath his his chin and closed his eyes to give his best friend the chance to avoid him. Pressuring John into a reaction would be fatal for their friendship, a friendship they had just been able to save after Mary's death and all the horrible things that had followed. Sherlock hated himself for wanting more. He should just be happy with having John back. He loved Rosie and the way they had been able to combine the work with their version of a family. It wasn't fair that his heart yearned for John's affection the same way his body yearned for John's touch.

He wished he had someone other than Irene to talk about this, but he didn't want to hurt Molly or get stupid questions from Greg. And Mycroft wasn't even an option. Irene had smiled knowingly, when he had told her about his crush. More than a crush.

“I'll make pasta. Rosie will be back in about thirty minutes.”

Sherlock made an acknowledging sound, but didn't react otherwise. He heard John moving around the kitchen, something that felt so familiar. Like home.

**Tell him.**

Irene's voice interrupted the comfortable silence, as her text message arrived. He heard something falling to the floor. John's face appeared in the door.

“New ringtone?” Sherlock sat up, watching his best friend.

“Apparently,” he said, slowly getting up. He retrieved his phone from the desk.

_:) Irene_

“Messing around with my phone seems to give her some kind of satisfaction.”

When Sherlock turned around, John stood right behind him and Sherlock couldn't figure out the emotions on his face. There were too many.

“What should you tell me?” The doctor's voice was soft, his eyes dark and gentle. Sherlock's first instinct was to lie, to deny everything. He didn't. Instead, he cupped John's face in his hands and pressed a feather light kiss to the smaller man's lips.

 

* * *

 

John's heart exploded as jealousy gave way to happiness. They parted for a second and smiled shyly at each other.

“This. She told me to tell you this.” Sherlock's voice was no more than a whisper, as his fingertips followed the lines of John's lips. John leaned into the light pressure and he wanted nothing more than to kiss Sherlock again. But he needed to know first.

“And what is 'this'? You know, I'm an idiot, you'll need to spell it out for me.”

Sherlock's lips quirked up into a smile and John couldn't resist. He kissed him again, keeping his touch light.

“I am in love with you.” The taller man looked at him, before he pressed his eyes close.

John wove his fingers into dark curls and softly pulled Sherlock down, so he could kiss those eyelids.

“And I you. I love you so much, Sherlock Holmes.” John caught his best friend, as he almost fell and they clung to each other in an embrace so desperate, it took John's breath away. Neither of them spoke, but the silence was comfortable. John buried his face in Sherlock's neck, breathing in his scent.

**Tell him.**

“I already did, you stupid woman,” Sherlock mumbled into John's hair and they started giggling.

This was home and John wanted to come back to this for the rest of his life.


End file.
